


And Baby Makes Three

by deepforestowl



Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-12
Updated: 2010-09-12
Packaged: 2017-10-11 17:27:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,341
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/114833
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deepforestowl/pseuds/deepforestowl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Why is Watson holding a baby and what does this mean for Holmes and Watson?</p>
            </blockquote>





	And Baby Makes Three

**Author's Note:**

> Written for a challenge, #014 All About Children, on the Watsons_Woes community on LJ

Title: And Baby Makes Three  
Author: Deepforestowl  
Rating: PG 13   
Warnings: Slash implied but non-explicit  
Series: Granada though also influenced by the film  
Summary: Why is Watson holding a baby and what does this mean for Holmes and Watson?

There was nothing more in the world that Holmes loved better than solving a mystery, except maybe Dr. John Watson, but one did not speak of such things, no matter how much one wanted it to be true and shouted from the rooftops. Holmes shook his head and continued walking towards Baker Street, a spring in his step and his lips slightly curved upwards in a smile. As he opened the door, Mrs. Hudson poked her head out from the kitchen, a smear of flour on her cheek. "Some tea, please, Mrs. Hudson" Holmes called out as he started to bound up the stairs.

"Holmes!" Mrs. Hudson hollered back, "Tell Dr. Watson that the milk is almost done and I'll be up in a moment."

Holmes had barely paused on his run up the stairs but it was enough for Mrs. Hudson to know that he had heard, and would hopefully relay, the message. Holmes threw open the door and was brought up short by the sight before him, message instantly forgotten. Watson sat in his chair by the fire, his brow furrowed in pain, the cause of which was an infant laying on his bad shoulder, happily gnawing on it. His other should baring evidence of also having been gnawed on. The baby cooed and babbled cheerfully as Watson murmured to it and rubbed it's back in a soothing, paternal kind of way. At Holmes' entrance, the baby looked toward him, broke into a smile, and laughed.

"Watson?" The way Holmes said his dear friend's name conveyed everything that was being asked: Do you realize that there is a baby slobbering on your shoulder? Who is the baby? Why is the baby here? Who does this baby belong to? Baby?

"He was left in a basket on our step Holmes. There's a note on the table." Watson motioned towards the table with his chin and watched his beloved friend carefully. Holmes couldn't help but think that there was a touch of fear in Watson's eyes. Holmes crossed to the table and picked up the open letter:

"Dear John, a year ago, we met by the seashore. We were both in pain. You over the loss of your wife, child, and closest friend. I, because I knew I was dying of the same cancer that stole my Rupert from me too soon. You thought I only grieved for my husband, but I grieved for myself as well. I know that the week we spent together helped me continue on. I hope you don't think it too forward of me to say that I feel that you felt the same way after we parted ways. We comforted each other and for that, I will always be grateful. When I realized that I was pregnant, I decided to keep the child as long as I was able. Perhaps it was selfish of me, but I knew that I was not long for this world and so, you see before you my sweet Rose. She is a darling baby and I hope that you can find it in your heart to love her, accept her, and keep her as your own. I have sent her and this missive to you via a dear friend. That you have received this means that I have passed on and joined my departed husband. Thank you and please, love Rose as you loved those that you lost for Rose is an easy baby to love. Helen"

Holmes had stood stock still as he read. On one level, his great brain catalogued everything about the paper (heavy, cream, Crane, expensive), writing (feminine, unsteady penmanship caused by illness not hesitancy), ink (Diamine, Midnight Blue), and pen (Onoto, expensive, heavy weight, most likely for a male). On another level, Holmes' heart stilled. Helen was talking of the time when Holmes had been running around the world in an effort to take down Moriarty's gang and flee his feelings for Watson. Holmes had conquered the gang and was still hopelessly and helplessly in love with Watson. But....still....Watson? A father? It was in this moment that Holmes realized how badly Watson had been hurt in the three years that Holmes had been gone and just how much Holmes was going to lose in a moment but before he could lash out in a verbal strike to ease his pain, Watson spoke in an voice that spoke of memory and a terrible time.

"I was going to kill myself the very day that Helen and I met. I was sitting on a boulder and had taken off my jacket. I had left a note in the inside pocket. I was preparing to walk into the sea. Death by water was only fitting. It would have brought me closer to you." Holmes flinched. "Helen came walking up the beach and after that day, we were not separated until the week was up and we went our own ways. She was...understanding, special. She touched my broken soul." John murmured as he continued to rub little Rose's back. She was starting to show signs of crankiness. A knock sounded at the door and Mrs. Hudson bustled in, a baby bottle of milk in her hand. "ahh....Thank you Mrs. Hudson. Just in time." John expertly positioned Rose into the crook of his arm, took the bottle from Mrs. Hudson, and plopped the nipple into Rose's mouth just as she opened it to let out a wail of hunger.

"You are so good with her Dr. Watson. She's in good hands." Mrs. Hudson said softly. Turning to Holmes, "I'll go make that tea now and bring up some biscuits." She headed back towards the kitchen.

Holmes felt the moment hang in the air as John's blue eyes met Holmes' grey ones. "What will you do, Watson?" Holmes whispered into the silence.

Watson's eyes saddened. "She was conceived out of hope and comfort, if not love. I'll move out as soon as possible and do right by her."

A thousand thoughts screamed through Holmes' mind, but the one that cried out the loudest was "Don't leave me!" Holmes leaned back into the chair, "Nonsense Old Fellow. We can convert your room into a nursery. You take my room and I'll do up a pallet here by the fire. I've certainly lived and slept in far worse places. This is your..." "Holmes hesitated a moment, "our home. This is where you belong. This is where Rose belongs. I want to be her Uncle and spoil her and teach her about science and deduction." Holmes spoke passionately, but he then became uncertain in the face of John's silence, "That is, if you would still have me?"

Watson's eyes were suspiciously bright. "Do you mean it Holmes? I couldn't bear it if you changed your mind and I'll not have you hurt Rose by being there one day and gone the next."

Holmes' eyes were also bright and his voice rough, "I swear to you now that I shall never leave you or Rose and that both your safety and happiness is of the utmost importance to me. Stay John."

Watson held out his hand, overcome with emotion, tears slipping down his still too thin cheeks. Holmes swiftly moved to his side and grasped his hand and then, though unsure of himself, he wrapped his free arm around John's shoulders and was relieved and thrilled when John leaned into him. They sat in silence, watching Rose suckle at the bottle. As the last few drops were sucked down, Holmes held out his arms and looked beseechingly at John. John smiled and nodded as he placed Rose in Holmes' arms. Holmes stood up and looked at Rose as he started to pat her back, "Welcome home Rose. I'm your Uncle Holmes."


End file.
